


Red Pants in Paris

by Consultingcrackaddicts (orphan_account), idontlikesand



Series: A Study in Kinks [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Public Sex, Tourism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Consultingcrackaddicts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontlikesand/pseuds/idontlikesand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John get freaky on their holidays</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Pants in Paris

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been in our drafts for like a zillion years. We thought we'd finally post it. IT was meant to be the first installment of a series, but I don't think we'll be writing any more Sherlock crack fics. You never know though, that could change!! I could come crawling back because I love attention. 
> 
> Anyway, consider this a probable fairwell. Enjoy!

They had travelled to Paris that night for a case - which had soon turned as pear-shaped as a pear. John didn’t really mind, he liked the smell of France, and their hotel room was lovely for fucking in. Sherlock, however, was annoyed a lot. He he’d wanted to go home immediately cause he’s lame and doesn’t like new things. picky picky picky. 

“Sherlock, are you serious? We have a week in Paris, paid for by your brother, in this posh hotel room. I don’t want to leave, and I don’t think we should.”

Sherlock merely grunted at him, like a pig in heat. 

“No, come on. We’ll have a nice time. Do some sightseeing, go out for dinner. Stuff like that.”

“What’s the point in sightseeing, you can look up pictures of The Eiffel Tower on the internet.” Sherlock said into the elbow that was slung across his face as he reclined on the sofa. 

“Well... We could make it fun.” John said, his voice the audio equivalent of being balls deep in someone’s anus. 

“John, we can have sex all week at home, there’s a bed there too.” 

“But we can’t have sex in Paris at home.”

“We’ll pretend it’s Paris.”

“No, I mean: We can’t have sex in Paris at home.” John said, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. 

Sherlock sat up, as fast as a speeding ejaculation. 

“What are you suggesting?” He said, his eyes as narrow as his chances of being a heterosexual. . 

“I’m suggesting,” John said, fiddling with a loose thread in the bed spread, “That there are far more interesting things to do at The Eiffel Tower than just look at it.” 

He made eye contact with Sherlock, who was regarding him with an intense gaze. 

“Easy. We climb up to an empty observation deck, hide behind a vast beam, I bend you over the rails and pound you until you come in your pants.” Sherlock lay back down, uninterested. 

“Sherlock!” 

“What?” 

“Look, let’s raise the stakes. We’ll go out for the day, and at some point, I’ll let you know that we need to fuck, within ten metres of wherever we are. We have to pull it off without anyone noticing.”

“That’s a bit better.” 

“You get one veto a day.” 

“How will I know when you want it? You can hardly say ‘I want to have sex now please’ and expect to remain surreptitious.” 

“We’ll have a non verbal signal.” 

“Like what.” 

“I’ll show you my pants.”

“John, I am sad to inform you that your underwear show above your pants all the time.” 

“Fine, a specific pair then.” 

“All your pants are white.” 

“Well then I’ll get a specific pair.” 

“Alright. But if it’s boring, we’re going home.” 

“It won’t be boring.” 

“We’ll see.” 

 

John was in a French mall, trying to find some “specific” enough pants. He’d gone out for a walk to plan the following week - he would have to be careful. If he picked something too obvious, Sherlock would know. If he picked something that he thought too hard about, Sherlock would know. In the end, he figured it would be best if he didn’t know either, and resolved to make a snap decision whenever he particularly wanted to touch Sherlock on the butt. 

He had lapsed into thought in front of one of the underwear display stands and came too rubbing a pair of satin boxers between his thumb and forefinger. Considering his hard penis, he probably looked like a pervert. Which was fair enough, considering he was planning a week of very public sex. 

John thought it best to go with the same style of underwear he already had, and so moved to the section with the y-fronts. Tighty-whities weren’t the sexiest underwear ever, but the less Sherlock could figure out, the better. He saw some light blue pants, which were bright enough to be distinguishable from white - but then, he had a shirt almost the same colour. What about deep green, then, he thought. But that didn’t seem particularly inspiring. Nor did the lilac ones. But there, on the bottom row of the rack, hung the perfect pants: **the red ones.**

He bought seven pairs (as any he wore were likely to get ruined), and went back to the hotel, pants tucked away in his carry bag. 

 

The next morning dawned bright and early. Or you know, the sun came up and they got ready to go out and stuff, YEAH. John put on his red pants and got a bit stiff thinking about how Sherlock was going to fuck him anally in public later. He slipped a small bottle of lube into his pocket. 

“Sherlock, are you ready to go?” 

Sherlock grunted, his head under the pillow still. 

“Come on, get up. We’ve got things to do.” 

“You mean you’re going to ‘surprise’ me somewhere incredibly obvious and then we’ll do what we could be doing right now, but in public?”

“You’ll see, come on.” 

“Ugh, fine.” 

Sherlock was up and dressed in five minutes, and still looked amazingly handsome. 

They walked along through Paris, not talking much. 

“Look, I know you said not The Eiffel Tower, but I still want to go up there anyway, so can we please get that over with and then move on?” 

Sherlock gave him a look, but nodded all the same. 

 

The line to the lifts was long and boring. 

“You know, I wouldn’t mind if we did it here.” 

“That would be impossible.” 

“Would it though?”

“Yes!” 

When they finally got on the lifts, they were crushed right at the back, Sherlock towering over John as he looked out the window. John was absentmindedly looking at the ceiling, and so was amply surprised when he felt a firm hand slide onto his dick. He looked up at Sherlock, who was still staring out the window, although his eyes looked a little less glazed over than when they boarded. John moved his hips forward, and the grip on his shaft strengthened. He pushed into the hand, rolling his hips the smallest amount while dexterous fingers squeezed and prodded in all the right places. John let out a sigh. 

And then the elevator did too. The hand on his crotch stilled, and Sherlock’s eyes tensed. 

“The elevator stopped!” Came an obtuse American voice from the other side of the lift. 

John saw Sherlock roll his eyes, and hid a smile. The lift operator informed them there would be a wait, and a woman on the other side of the carriage started having a claustrophobia induced panic attack. John was about to offer up his medical services, but he remembered Sherlock had him firmly by the dick. He thanked his lucky stars that the woman’s partner appeared to have adequate training and experience in the area. At that moment, he felt that the desire in his balls outweighed his hippocratic oath. 

Slowly, he slid his hands down to meet Sherlock’s, and undid his trousers, revealing his bright red pants. 

Sherlock smirked, and rolled his eyes again (although John liked to think it was done out of admiration). Soon enough, he found himself turned around a pushed up against the glass, his pants slid down to below his bottom. It was completely innocuous. The same hand as before was stretched across his pubis, while it’s mate groped roughly at his buttocks. John’s erection was about to burst out of his pants as though it was an extremely large zit and he felt that Sherlock’s ding dong was in the same position. Sherlock found the lube in his pocket and squeezed a small amount into his hand, using it to work a finger into John’s anus in a very sexual manner even though there could be a poop up there. No one knows for sure with that sort of thing. 

“Oh!” John gasped, fogging up the glass in front of him - thankfully the woman in the background was still making enough noise to mask their escapades. 

“We’ll have to be quick,” Sherlock said breathily in his ear, “they could turn around at any second.” 

John moaned quietly, his forehead pressing against the wall as Sherlock thrust his finger slowly in and out. No poop, thank goodness. John thanked his lucky stars. 

“What do you think they’ll say when they see me fucking you?” Sherlock said softly. 

“Sherlock, they’ll hear.” John forced out through gritted teeth, pushing himself into the glass to achieve some kind of friction. 

“They might.” 

Sherlock twisted his finger in John’s anus, sliding it out with a noise than an anus makes when you take things out of it, if it makes any noise at all, I am uncertain.

“Or they might not, if you know how to keep quiet.”

John felt Sherlock undo his own trousers, the sound of the zip barely audible.

“Jesus Christ.” John said, feeling Sherlock lean into him, pushing ever so slightly against his behind. 

“I want you to pull out your cock now.” 

“Sherlock-”  
“Do as you’re told John, or all bets are off.” 

John did as he was told. Behind him, he could feel Sherlock making the same movements, his own trouser python slithering from its sexylittle snake den where a snake family lives, and the breadwinning snake had ventured out to procure nourishment in the plush wet fields oh John’s colon. 

“Right. Now, brace yourself.” Sherlock instructed. 

John pressed his palms to the glass just in time - Sherlock had pulled him back by his hips, so he was more bent over, and slid his hotdog between John’s firm buns, shielded by his big ‘I don’t give a fuck so fuck-off‘ coat. He thrust gently, the penis track nice and slidey because of the lube oozing from John’s butthole with each thrust, like mustard on a smoky grilled bratwurst. He was really getting into the groove of things, when he realized that John had nothing to hump up on, so he gave his good buddy a reach-around. Sherlock is such a nice guy. 

“How many times can I spank you before they notice, do you think?” He asked, his voice sounding like he was going to find it come hell or high water, “Or do I have to gag you with my scarf?” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Sherlock said, landing a hard slap on John’s buttock just as a loud honk came from below, signalling that the lift was up and working again. 

They juddered a bit, before continuing to move slowly upwards. Sherlock pushed harder (like a man stuck on a jackhammer with john’s hot bootie as the pavement), knowing he needed to pick up the pace, lest they be left in the lift with only the attendant’s eyeballs melting as he watched them screw against the wall. 

John shoved his face into his elbow, as Sherlock tugged harder on his cock, suppressing the noise of his orgasm as he blew his load all over the glass. He kept his face hidden as he panted, Sherlock still rutting into his butt crevice, until he came too, his spooge spilling into the crack of butthole Mordor. John felt Sherlock zip up his pants, and pulled up his own before coat-man stepped away. The lift stopped.

“Sherlock, you’ve left cum all over my arse.” John said as he turned around. 

“Yes. I thought it could serve as a reminder of how much fun Paris is.” Sherlock said, winking. 

Sherlock exited the lift with an air of someone who’s cum was in another man’s pants, and left John standing by the semen-covered window. 

“For fuck’s sake.” John said as he followed, not bothering to wipe up his mess. 

As he followed Sherlock over to the railing, he thought about where they would go tomorrow. 

The Catacombs sounded fun...

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all have had a fun time. Here's to you crazy cats~ Kudos and comment if you feel like it. :] Thanks for reading!


End file.
